


Carry Your Torches

by fotoshop_cutout



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, M/M, Multi, Polyamorous Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Rogue Lavellan - Freeform, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Whump, post-haven
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:55:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25730947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fotoshop_cutout/pseuds/fotoshop_cutout
Summary: Lark Lavellan shouldn't have the time or the energy to have feelings popping up all over the place. Besides, shouldn't he be more concerned about bringing his Clan into the fold of the Inquisition or maybe even the fact that Sera's pranking everybody and their grandmas? Or perhaps he should be more concentrated on the Inquisition's missions the way Leliana would prefer, or worried about the next confrontation with Corypheus?Instead he's learning how to play chess, befriending Qunaris and Gray Wardens alike, listening to Varric's stories, and meeting the people from Cullen and Varric's pasts in Kirkwall. (He may also be blushing whenever Cullen or Dorian even glances in his general direction, but he won't cop to that.)
Relationships: Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus/Cullen Rutherford, Male Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford, Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus, Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	1. Leave it in the Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> I may be slow to update, I am a college student who works full time as well. I'll try! Comments and talking to me helps keep me going, so don't be shy!

Lark Lavellan stumbled his way through the snow, arms raised to ward off the frigid wind throwing up ice crystals into his eyes. The long tips of his ears had long since gone numb, as with his legs, barely clambering their way through the drifts, and his hands, even in the thick gloves he’d managed to yank on in the whole mess of Haven falling. He didn’t even know if he was heading in the right direction anymore, although he’d seen the last campfire (long since quenched) it felt like only minutes ago, but he was sure it had been hours. He’d hardly stopped, since there hadn’t been any indications there of the direction the occupants may have proceeded in. He’d just pressed on.

During the long stretches where all he could do was keep chanting to himself to keep going, he did his best to remind himself of why he might continue—the eventuality of returning to his clan, getting to know this Dorian fellow that had shown up at the gates to warn them all, hearing more of Varric’s stories about the Champion of Kirkwall, besting Cullen at chess—and when his mind couldn’t come up with anything more, he just let it linger on Cullen’s soft smile in response to his flirtations.

Not that Lark had done more than flirt. He hardly had time enough to do that around all the meetings at the War Table and business talk, let alone take it any further. Not that he was certain the Commander would be interested anyway. Sweat clung to his brow under the helmet he’d crammed down on his head, but he didn’t dare take it off in the freezing weather. Hours passed.

He scrambled his way through a snow drift up to his thighs and shoved his fingers into the still smoking coals of the campfire, leaning down close to feel the heat on his numb face. Convulsive shivers ran down him and he realized he hadn’t bothered to strip the thick gloves from his hands—probably a good thing, since the coals could burn him without his realizing. Exhaustion ate at him and he had to just sit there and breathe for a moment before he could even look up beyond the abandoned campsite: rocks and a gap between.

When he managed to haul himself up he stumbled and nearly took a header into the nearest snow covered boulder, his boots alternating between stuck deep in the snow drifts and slipping out from under him. He barely managed to make his way over the boulders, almost called it quits in the gigantic snow drift heaped in front of the gap between the two cliff faces, and when he finally managed to get to the shelter from the driving winds and cold snows his legs gave out. At about the same time as his vision narrowed down into darkness, he could have sworn he heard Cullen calling out to him, hands gripping his arms and sides as he lifted him into his arms, but that could have easily been a hallucination.

~*~

He slept for days afterward, awakening to the press of a warm cloth to his forehead and a soothing low tone, the crooning of a sort of lullaby or prayer. Mother Giselle was tending to him. He could barely keep his eyes open, so he rested more. He knew he had other visitors: Varric told him a story that Lark could only remember snippets of, Cassandra was sighing and clinging to his hand, Solas was a presence by his side that was as constant as Mother Giselle was, tending to him and even spoon-feeding him warm broth when he could hold his head up. Even Dorian stopped by to see how he was doing, yet Cullen was only ever a voice outside the tent.

When he was finally back up on his feet, he was easily worn out and found himself always leaning on something or someone. Camp remained up in the hills, far enough away from Haven that Corypheus and his forces would have to have quite a bit of luck in order to find them. They were safe enough, Leliana assured him, that they could stay until he was able to lead them once more. He spoke to Dorian two days after waking—the man had endured the loss of someone he’d been trying to save. Although Lark hadn’t personally liked the man (he was a thorn in his side, always reminding him that he was a criminal of sorts and didn’t deserve any of the reverence the others were throwing at him), he felt badly that he’d met the end he had. He was one of too many lost.

Varric had met him with a clap on the back and smile on his lips, ready to tell him another story that the elf wasn’t sure was true or druffalo shit. Cullen barely met his eyes. Solas mother-henned him and made Lark wish he could dodge the other elf. In the end, however, he offered the Inquisition a place in which they might be able to rebuild what was lost at Haven. Lark would be a fool to tell him no, and for some reason Solas wanted it to seem as though Lark had found it himself. Which meant many days running ahead and plowing through the snows, dodging the icy bits with only Solas for company. Another, bone-deep kind of tired took over Lark’s life and didn’t end until a couple of weeks after settling into Skyhold.

The castle was in all sorts of states of disrepair and even with groups scouting and foraying out into the wilds in every direction, he was still responsible now—they’d pressed him into becoming the leader of the charge: the Inquisitor. Now he had two titles to juggle and he wasn’t sure he liked being associated with either one of them. He hadn’t had time to himself in forever, and for the first time in what felt like the months since everything started and he’d awoken an amnesiac, he was leaned back on a couch that had been provided for his living quarters, a book in his hands as he read one of Varric’s serials.

Restless, he kicked a foot and reread the same line five times before he finally put the book aside and pushed himself up, crossing to push open the door to one of the two balconies he had. He peered down to the battlements and the bit of one of the courtyards he could see. It was a lovely garden now, laid out in a utilitarian manner that Lark found pretty anyway. It was mostly healing herbs and not bright flowers, but it would help keep the Inquisition running and be relatively self-sustaining. Still, the garden drew Andrastians with the statue, and he knew that if the Commander wasn’t in his office, the training yard, or in the War Room, he was likely traipsing the gardens and sneaking into the statue to pray when he thought no one was paying him any mind. This was exactly the scene Lark watched play out now, and he sighed and turned back to retreat inside, shutting the doors to the outside, keeping the blustering winds at bay.

He puttered around his quarters for as long as he could manage to entertain himself, and then found himself wandering the unused and yet-to-be-repaired sections of the castle, trying to get a grasp on the long to do list Josephine had put together for him. When he couldn’t take it anymore, he made his way through the halls, doing his best to keep his head down through all the hails from supporters of the Inquisition, there to say they knew him. He managed to snag Varric’s attention, but the man was dealing with some of his business and couldn’t step away, so he made his way out to see Cassandra. Only to be turned away—she was helping to teach a group of new recruits the ropes.

He almost went in to bother the Chargers and Iron Bull in the Tavern, but he didn’t really want to start drinking this early in the day, knowing all too well that they would press him to it. By that measure he didn’t want to avoid them and climb the stairs to visit either of the two more odd members he took with him on his quests, so he veered off to find Dorian up in the Library. With a nod and wave to Solas as he passed by, noting that the man had taken one of the shards he’d found in the Hinterlands and had it sitting on his desk, whispering to him incessantly, Lark took the stairs as hurriedly as he could. It wasn’t long before he found himself peering around the corner and into the Tevinter mage’s little nook. He had found a high-backed chair, comfortably furnished with a plush seat and velvet everywhere. It seemed to suit Dorian’s taste almost perfectly.

The man in question was lounging in the chair, one leg drawn up to rest an ankle on the opposite knee, book held open in front of him at medium distance, his free hand tugging at the upward curl of his mustache. Lark watched quietly for a moment before he cleared his throat, “A moment of your time?”

The man’s face went through several emotions rather quickly: from confusion all the way to delight. He sat up, closing his book around his finger to hold his place, “Why of course, Inquisitor.”

“I was just wondering…” He began, but movement in the bit of the courtyard he could see through the window attracted his attention—or, rather, the movement of a certain blond Commander—and he trailed off, watching the way Cullen ducked his head, glanced up and nodded as he met with a scout that handed off a report. A clearing of Dorian’s throat and a raise of his eyebrows was all that was necessary to jerk his gaze back to the Tevinter mage. “Sorry, I was just wondering if you’d like to get a bite to eat with me?”

This caused Dorian to smile graciously and move to stand, “That sounds absolutely lovely. Shall we find a nice sunny spot in the garden, or should we find a spot in the Great Hall?”

Lark hesitated for a split second, eyes darting back to where the courtyard was now vacant before shifting back to the mage, “The garden might be quieter.”

Dorian’s lips quirked and then he gestured toward the stairwell, accompanying Lavellan as they made their way down to the kitchens. “Right, it wouldn’t do you any favors to be seen with the scoundrel mage from Tevinter,” Dorian began, but Lark cut him off with a no-nonsense tone accompanied by a sharp look and a quick halt to face the mage.

“Actually, I wanted to escape the incessant greetings yelled at me from across the room whenever I’m anywhere near the Orlesian guests. It doesn’t exactly tickle my fancy to have my lunch ruined.” Apparently his clarification settled whatever feathers he’d fluffed, and Dorian even had the good sense to look a bit sheepish. Good.

They continued on with a slightly uneasy silence until Dorian figured out the best way to put the words together, “I apologize for assuming, I should have realized it wasn’t about that.”

Lark glanced at him, and after a beat without a response, he huffed out a sigh and shrugged, “Honestly, I understand how you feel. It’s not as though everyone loves the fact that a Dalish Elf is leading the Inquisition now.”

His voice was a low grumble and he hunched over a bit, as if hiding from the very topic itself. Dorian pressed his lips into a thin line, but let the subject fall by the wayside as they took the back halls to the Kitchens. They made a couple of plates without saying much between them, careful to dodge any of the chefs and just nab the items that were from earlier meals that were left overs. Once they had their meals, they slipped back out into the back halls and made their way back toward the garden Lark had been looking down upon earlier. They grabbed seats in the open gazebo and used the small table perched in there to hold their plates. Dorian was quick to whip a napkin out from who knows where and lay it across his lap while Lark just tore into a roll and popped a piece with more crunch and less fluff into his mouth.

“Did you have any particular reason for lunching with me today, Lavellan? Or do you just like to sit across from a pretty face?” Dorian was pulling cutlery from his sleeves somehow and Lark used a piece of the roll’s crust as a spoon for some pasta dish he’d piled onto a quarter of his plate.

“Honestly?” He spoke with a piece of roll in his cheek, a one shouldered shrug as a gesture, “I have the first day all to myself in months and I don’t know what to do with myself.”

Dorian paused in cutting up a chicken breast and snorted a laugh. _That_ even sounded eloquent. How the in the Dread Wolf’s name did he do that? “I wasn’t your first choice for company, then?”

Lark stared at him for a moment, trying to decipher how he should answer that. He chewed slowly. When he finally swallowed he lowered his eyes to his plate, pushing some salad around with another piece of bread. Finally, he looked back up at Dorian with some guilt in his expression, “Not exactly. But you were the third choice, if that’s any consolation.”

“Third choice, huh? Who was first? Wait—let me guess: a certain overworked yet somehow still ravishingly handsome Commander?” Dorian replied rather flippantly. Lark did his best to not react, except that his face totally betrayed him. His eyes flicked up to meet the mage’s and his cheekbones felt hot. He opened his mouth to reply, but then changed his course and instead scooped some salad up on his bread and heard Dorian’s sigh. There was a rustle of fabric and then a fork appeared under his nose, “Come now, you had eating utensils living the nomadic life, didn’t you?”

Lark blinked, “Oh, thank you. I actually didn’t think to grab any.”

“Yes, well…” Dorian trailed off, wiggling the fork insistently until Lark took it, and then continued on the previous subject without batting an eye, “And don’t think for one moment that you’ve been obvious about it. I’m just remarkably observant.”

Lark felt relieved. Why did he feel relieved? Was it due to his inevitable rejection in the face of his unfortunate crush? Probably. He shouldn’t even have room or time in his life for these feelings to be popping up and bothering him. He really shouldn’t. Dorian was staring at him, one eyebrow elegantly arched.

“Uh… thanks—I think.”

~*~

Lark had returned up to his quarters after lunch with Dorian, which had mostly devolved into the two of them talking about the plans for sprucing up Skyhold. Dorian did have a fashion sense, after all, and he seemed to understand what it was the followers of the Inquisition needed and expected from the home base. He planned on drafting a couple of lists of supplies and looking at maps to see where he might be able to procure those supplies, but first Krem waylaid him, waiting off to the side of the throne by the door to his quarters, asking him questions about what the Chargers could do to help, to which the elf sent him off to Josephine to find more pointed answers to those questions, and then he made his way down the hallway and swung his door open to smack directly into the fur-covered shoulder of one Commander Cullen.

“Ow!”

A sharp intake of breath and Lark slipped inside, shutting the door behind him by leaning back against it. “Creators, I’m sorry, Cullen!”

The blond’s brow wrinkled as he raised a hand to rub the offended shoulder, “It’s fine, Lavellan, you just startled me. I was looking for you, Leliana wants to meet in the War Room—are you quite alright?”

At some point during the Commander speaking to him, Lark had slumped against the door instead, but jerked his head up to meet Cullen’s questioning gaze. He straightened himself up and rubbed at his temple, “Uh… yeah, yeah. I’m just fine.”

He moved to pass the Commander and head up into his room more fully, but a hand reached out and gently grabbed his bicep. “No, you’re not. You must be exhausted. You’ve only just made it back to Skyhold from the Storm Coast and she’s already trying to pull you back into the fray.” His hand rubbed reassuringly at Lark’s arm, “I’ll tell her you’re resting. It can wait until tomorrow.”

Lark couldn’t find a way to make his mouth form words, and before he knew it, Cullen’s hand was dropping back to his side and the man was beginning to excuse himself. The door swung shut after the Commander and that was what finally pushed Lark into motion. He lunged forward and heaved the door back open, calling after Cullen, who had only made it a few steps down the hall, “W-wait—um. Would you, uh… Would you like to stay? I have some wine, I think… and I’m sure you could use a break.”

The Commander paused, turning to look at the slightly out of breath (why was he out of breath, he hadn’t done anything) elf behind him. He frowned and Lark was certain he was about to say he had more pressing matters to attend to, but then he nodded and stepped back in the rogue’s direction. Lark smiled and opened the door wider, inviting the Commander back into his quarters.

“I don’t suppose you play chess, do you?” Cullen’s question caught him off guard, and he cocked his head to the side like a confused Mabari.

“I’ve never played, no. But I’m told I’m a quick learner.” Besides, it was something he’d meant to ask Leliana or Dorian to teach him. Cullen’s honey colored eyes sparkled in the light streaming through the veritable wall of windows he had in his room, and Lark’s breath caught momentarily.

“I can only imagine. You have a board? I can always fetch mine…” Cullen offered, but Lark gestured to the table where Josephine had set up the board and it hadn’t been touched since. “Ah! Perfect. You pour the wine, I’ll set up the board.”

Before long, the Commander was teaching him strategy, couch-side, of different chess play styles. They were a glass and half each into one bottle of wine, and Lark couldn’t stop watching the man’s hands as he gesticulated. Their afternoon in each other’s company ended after a few candlemarks had passed, Lark knew the basics of playing the game, but wasn’t much of an opponent for Cullen just yet. He seemed relatively jovial about it, clapping his hand on Lark’s shoulder and telling him that they would practice together sometime soon as he excused himself to return to Leliana and tell her that they would be meeting tomorrow, bright and early before Lark headed back out once more.

Lark then spent around fifteen minutes staring out his windows at the snow covered mountains outside. When he finally got himself together, he took to his desk, pulling out a map and finally getting down to the task he’d meant to do right after lunch. By the time he finished he’d missed dinner, had a few questions scribbled in the margins of the paper he was scratching on, and was yawning into a curled fist. He glanced at his still-packed bags and sighed, kicking his boots off and climbing into his bed, sleeping much more deeply than he had in a long time.

~*~

The morning dawned bright, and Lark was out of bed before the sun peeked over the mountains and into his tower. He was already dressed and snatched up his pack, intending on leaving directly from the War Room. He snagged a light breakfast on his way through the Great Hall, the servers bringing out the morning’s meal just then. The recruits from the barracks were trudging in, rubbing the sleep from their eyes as Cassandra herded them in the direction of the long tables set up. Once they had eaten, then the tables would be cleared and set up a bit later for the court guests and later risers. Varric was already seated at one of the tables and waved at Lark as he passed by. He was already packed as well. Lark nodded to him and continued down to the door to Josephine’s office. He slipped through the doors, noticing that she was already in the War Room herself, and then pressed on down the still dilapidated hall.

As he pushed through the door, Cullen glanced his way and the two of them smiled in greeting. Leliana started in immediately, “You’re late.”

“Sorry, grabbing breakfast.” He tried to explain, but she had already waved him off impatiently. Josephine said something placating to the redhead, but Leliana just pursued the topic she had wanted to discuss the day before.

“We need more supplies. I’m not talking coin or herbs, either. We’ve got those in spades. What we need are logging stands and quarries. You can guess why.”

Lark nodded, pouring himself a glass of water and taking a swig. “I fully planned on it. I was going to swing by the western areas of the Hinterlands for the logging stands, and I was hoping Josephine might be able to tell me where an easily located quarry was.”

Josephine smiled as Leliana leaned over the map, considering something or another. Cullen gestured to an area Lark hadn’t been to just yet, but had been scouted. “There should be a quarry over here. Instead of sending the Inquisitor, however, I think we should just send some troops to secure it. Let Lavellan focus on the logging stands.”

Leliana’s lips pursed, but Josephine jumped on the idea. “I actually agree with you this time, Commander. We should be sending the Inquisitor out on more pointed missions now that he is the leader of our crusade.”

Leliana nodded curtly and wisely kept her thoughts to herself. He knew that if she had voiced how they needed as many people in as many places as possible right now to the others, she would have been stamped out with complaints of running him ragged. Not that he disagreed with either side. If he could see himself getting to both the logging stands and the quarry inside of a week, he would have. As it was, he didn’t know the terrain of the second local, and that would slow him down significantly.

He finished his glass of water while they sorted out the details. When they finished he stepped out into the hall with his pack hoisted onto his shoulder, only to be called by Cullen. The Commander slipped out of the War Room after him and trotted the few steps to catch up, bumping shoulders with him.

“Maybe when you get back we can play some more chess.” It was clear that the blond was just excited to have a potential game-playing partner, but Lark would take what he could get.

He smiled back at him, “Sounds like a plan.”

Just like that, they were stepping out from Josephine’s office and Varric was swinging his pack onto his shoulder as he slid out of his chair, ready to head out. Cullen waved to them both as they parted ways, “Travel safe!”


	2. Forces of Nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor gets up close and personal with a rock. The Iron Bull succeeds in getting someone drunk. Cullen takes the place of a cane.

Lark traveled with Varric, Blackwall, and Iron Bull to the western reaches of the Hinterlands in pursuit of the coveted Logging Stands. Fortunately, they secured two separate stands. Unfortunately, there were bears everywhere. This normally would have been just fine, if they had Solas or Dorian along to send some healing their way. As it was, Lark hadn’t really considered the fact that nature would be against them. He’d thought they were just sauntering in and clearing out bandits from their camps, and securing the logging stands, staying just long enough to make certain that the Inquisition forces were going to continue protecting the area.

Clearly, that was not what happened. Lark sucked in a pained breath and it immediately caught in his throat, leaving him sputtering. Blood quickly began pooling in the wounds the bear’s claws rendered in his chest, even through his leather chest plate. The bear’s roar sounded somewhere above him and Lark had the sensibility to drag himself backward, legs and arms basically crab-walking him out from under the beast. Blackwall managed to get its attention as he attempted to withdraw, but he heard Varric’s cry of his name as he tried to draw in another breath. Bull charged the thing and with another, further off roar from the bear, Lark managed to yank his daggers into his hands and pull himself back into a standing position even though he couldn’t breathe properly.

He rushed back in, not one to leave his friends fighting alone. His ribs had to be bruised at the very least, nevermind the blood that was now seeping through his armor. Lark winced and stumbled at the pain in his movements, but still carried out his attacks almost as normal. His agility was definitely lacking, as was his attention to their surroundings. So when another bear was drawn into the fray—where in the Dread Wolf’s name did they keep coming from?—he was woefully unprepared to get taken down by another slash of claws. Across his right thigh, barely missing the precious femoral artery, and deeper than the ones on his chest. He sunk his dagger into the flesh of the first bear’s shoulder, barely holding himself up. He didn’t count on the bear whirling and his bloodied hands slipping off the hilt.

He was thrown across the clearing, his back colliding with the boulders and his head cracking back, smacking off of the rocks as well. He barely lifted his head before the darkness swarmed his vision. The last thing he saw was Varric finally offing the first bear with a barrage of arrows to the face.

~*~

When he first woke he was back at the Crossroads in the Hinterlands, but he quickly passed back out again. The next time he woke they were on the road, inexplicably they had secured a wagon and he could see Varric out of the corner of his eye, crossbow slung across his lap. Blackwall was checking the bandages on his thigh and glanced up to meet his eyes, “Inquisitor—don’t worry, we’re just about back to Skyhold now. Just hold on a little while longer.”

The gruff reassurances were nice, but everything hurt and his breaths were puffing out in wheezes, which couldn’t be good. He looked up at the rocking beige canopy above him, looking somewhat familiar to him as he had once traveled in similar accommodations, just with Hallas pulling the wagon as opposed to the horses Dennet was keeping for the Inquisition’s uses. Varric patted his uninjured leg’s boot with one wide hand and scooted closer up, gesturing toward the front of the wagon, beyond Lark’s head, “The big guy’s up there,” He tilted his head for a moment to indicate the Qunari’s horns, “horns couldn’t fit back here.”

Lark normally would have had a chuckle at that, but instead he could only concentrate on trying to keep breathing. Varric gave a wane smile that quickly fell off his face as his brows drew together. “As soon as we get back, we’ll get Solas to fix you right up.”

Lark tried to nod, but everything hurt and he couldn’t suck in another breath and started to choke until Blackwall grumbled darkly at Varric and reached up to move his head back to where it had rested before he tried to move. “Don’t move.”

With the rocking movement of the wagon and the pain he was enduring, Lark stared up at the canopy for a while before he drifted back off into darkness once more.

~*~

He could tell they were arriving at Skyhold: the bustling outside the wagon’s covering and the calls were what woke him. He felt when the wheels hit the cobbled bridge instead of the snow packed trail they had been on, and he heard Bull’s call out for help with the injured. He wasn’t sure if they’d sent a missive ahead to warn them that it was the Inquisitor who went down rather than the others, but the first wave of muscle to move the wounded hadn’t known at the very least. Blackwall was right by his side as his stretcher was jostled. He wheezed his appreciation as Varric dropped down and patted his hand. “Don’t worry, kid, I’ll get them.”

The jostling of removing him from the wagon drew an involuntary cry from his lips which dissolved into a groan that ended in a wheezy expel of breath as darkness closed in on him once more. He vaguely heard Blackwall’s bark at the recruits to be more careful, but mostly he heard the urgent call of his title from Dorian’s lips. The mage made it to his side in what had to be record time, demanding to know what had happened from the Gray Warden accompanying them. By that point, though, Lark couldn’t have responded if he wanted to, the pain swallowing him up.

~*~

When it finally spit him back out, he had been transported into his own quarters, Solas and Dorian both pressing hands to him and working on changing his bandages. The bald elf gazed down at him, gaze as level as it always was, concern only visible as a single line between his furrowed eyebrows. He spoke soothingly, directing Dorian in his work and talking to Lark about the severity of his wounds. “Between our healing, potions, and these bandages you should be back on your feet in due time but I suggest you don’t rush yourself. You’ll only make the recovery process longer.”

He described the head wound that never seemed to stop seeping blood on the back of his head. Lark could imagine that it had come from the collision with the rocks. Solas moved down to talk about broken and bruised ribs, a collapsed lung that had taken a lot of energy between the two mages to fix, and the claw wounds that hadn’t sunk as deeply as they could have given his leather armor had been there. Then he talked about how lucky Lark was for the thigh wound being deep, but not having been enough to kill him.

Cassandra was present for a while but then stalked out, likely going back to attacking one of the poor test dummies in the courtyard. Leliana had only been present to stabilize him, as had Josephine, before returning to work, probably controlling the narrative. Bull was likely off drinking off his troubles since returning. Varric had arrived some time after the others, the Commander in tow. Cullen had since sunk down onto the couch, eyes no longer roving over his injuries, but instead turned to the snowcapped mountains outside the wall of windows, one hand curled loosely into a fist over his mouth. Varric had retreated to Lark’s desk and was fiddling with some keepsakes there, uncharacteristically quiet.

At some point he fell asleep, and when he awoke his room was silent and dark, a lump of a form in a chair at his bedside, slumped over and using the side of his bed as a pillow. It was too dark to tell who it was, but Lark moved his fingers of the hand next to them and even that small movement apparently alerted his visitor—Cullen shot upright, bags under his eyes, tired eyes instantly meeting Lark’s icy blue ones.

“You’re awake,” He breathed, barely audible, “Do you want anything? Water? Healing potion? Food?”

It was almost as though he didn’t know what to offer first, moving to stand and be as useful as possible. Lark’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, but he eventually got it working again and croaked out his answer.

“Water… might be nice.”

Cullen was on it, lighting a candle and pouring a cup of water, bringing it down and pressing it gently to the elf’s lips. Lark went to raise his arms and cringed in pain, gritting his teeth and attempting to force himself, but Cullen’s other hand pressed his hand back down to the bed beside him. “No, you’re hurt. Let me.”

Lark huffed, already frustrated, but acquiesced. The man tipped the cup slowly, allowing Lark to drink as much as he needed before placing the cup off to the side table once more. “Anything else I can get you? I’m afraid Dorian and Solas are resting, they wore themselves out trying to heal you earlier.”

He smiled a bit, and tapped his fingers on the bedspread beneath them, “I’m alright for now.”

It fell quiet as Cullen sunk back into the chair and he cleared his throat once before turning his attention back outside the windows while Lark watched him. Finally, the fallen rogue spoke again, “Why are you here, Cullen?”

The blond Commander’s gaze jerked back to meet his, and he bowed his head, “Everyone else was tired, I was letting them rest. You still need someone here, though.”

Lark took a moment to digest that. Duty, then. He could understand that. He would have nodded, but the last time he’d tried that he’d choked, so he held back from moving and just splayed his fingers out on the bedspread. Someone had cleaned him up and changed him from his armor into some soft cotton pants and a shirt that was left open in the front, exposing his bandaged chest to the moonlight pouring in through the windows and the flickering flame of the single candle lit. He wet his lips with his tongue, “Thank you.”

Cullen reached out and patted his hand, “Any time. Just get some more rest.”

Lark’s eyes were already doing their best to close, so he allowed them to, his last sight being of Cullen framed by moonlit white mountains through the windows, lighting him up almost ethereally. When he awoke Solas was there, chiding Sera for fiddling with his stuff while he was injured on the bed. She was dismissing him and everything seemed almost back to normal, except that one of the pawns on the chessboard had been moved into a new position and the board was near his bed.

~*~

Over the next couple of weeks, Lark went from full time bed rest to using a cane to help him keep his balance and being able to make a couple of trips to and from different places in the castle. He was, by far, not healed quite yet but the claw marks on his chest had become stark white slashes in his skin instead, his ribs allowed him to move once more and he was back to raising his own drinking glasses to his lips. His thigh wounds were a bit more tricky, apparently by being quite a bit deeper and biting into his muscle there, his healing time would be lengthened as would his time out of the field. He was able to make decisions for Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine around the War Table, but his role was significantly lessened for his recovery.

Through that time he usually woke up to Dorian pouring over a book or scroll at his desk, Varric reading to him from some story or another of his, or Solas there to check his wounds. But the slow-motion chess game progressed, so he had to imagine Cullen was stopping in on him either while he was asleep or while he was out. Neither of them brought it up outside of the room, they just slowly played the game while the days passed by. Dorian took him out into the garden for lunches, and Sera would stop by to tell him about the pranks she was playing on different members of the Inquisition.

While Cassandra busied herself with training the recruits with Cullen, she did swing by to ask his opinions and share news. Blackwall came by to apologize, but Lark dismissed that quickly, instead inviting the man to teach him about whittling. Bull helped him walk his way up to the library to check on research and then do some strength building exercises up on one of the walls. It was on one of these days that Bull finally apologized. He hadn’t been as verbose as usual, but with the apology and Lark’s dismissal, their relationship went back to normal. Lark did a couple of more reps of the exercise Bull was spotting him for when Varric’s head popped over the railing of the staircase nearby. “Ah, I thought you might be up here, Boss.”

Lark grunted, using Bull’s bicep to help himself back upright. He swiped at the sweat on his temples as Bull’s hands came to steady him on his shoulders. “Hey Varric, what’s up?”

“You know how I wrote to that guy I know and he might be able to help out the Inquisition?” Varric led him back to the conversation they had immediately upon arriving at Skyhold. Lark nodded and Varric continued, “Well, he just got here. Meet us across the way?”

Lark took a moment to just breathe and lean up against Bull. “I’ll be over in a minute.”

Varric nodded and headed back down the stairs, waving his hand and calling back up after himself, “Don’t rush on my account.”

It took Lark a little while before he was finished with the exercises Bull put on him, and by that time he was tired, so it took him more effort than usual to climb the stairs to a different part of the battlements. Varric was there already, apparently waiting on him. “You’re getting stronger.”

Lark huffed a sigh, “I’m pretty sure it’s only thanks to Bull at this point.” He shrugged and looked around at the buildings in the courtyard below them, “Where’s this guy you wanted me to meet?”

Boot steps sounded on the stairs behind him at a steady pace as Varric’s eyes flicked to land on the person joining them, “Boss, this is Hawke.”

“Hawke… as in the Champion of Kirkwall Hawke?”

The man was huge compared to him, and the spiked armor didn’t help the intimidation factor, especially given the fact that Lark was leaning on the cane lent to him during his recovery. “The one and only.”

He crossed his arms over his broad chest and seemed to give the barest of glances to the cane Lark was using. “You must be the Inquisitor.”

Lark shrugged and looked out toward where Cassandra was practicing her moves with a dummy, “Some call me that. Others call me the Herald of Andraste. But I grew up as Lark. Whatever floats your boat I guess.”

He had never really glommed onto the whole title thing, even when it came to his advisers. He only used their titles if he had to, otherwise trying to go for something a bit more intimate. He liked to think of them as friends, even if it was mostly obligatory. Hawke’s rough exterior seemed to relax a bit, and they were able to stand on more equal footing. By the end of the conversation Hawke had pledged his help and the help of another Warden friend to aid in the Inquisition in perhaps finding out what happened to the other Wardens. It was a start, anyway. Lark was obviously still recovering, so that would slow them down for now, but at least they had a lead.

~*~

The fall out between Cassandra and Varric was epic: complete with thrown items, cursing, and chasing around a table of all things. After calming the flares of anger, Lark ended up slowly making his way to find Dorian, except that the mage wasn’t in his usual spot in the library. So Lark pushed onward to visit the rooms down below, framing the gardens, where Dorian and Varric, in particular, had claimed rooms. When he pushed out into the open air, he was greeted by the soft lull of voices out in the gardens. There were still dignitaries from Orlais about, but it was the lilting tones of a certain Tevinter mage that drew his attention. He was down in the gazebo, the table in there in use with a chess board. It wasn’t until Lark made his way around the corner that he could see the other player’s boots. Ah, Cullen.

For a split second there was a flare of jealousy in his chest, but it was quickly tamped down. Instead, Lark lingered and leaned on the half wall that kept people from falling off the walkway. He rested his cane against the stone and just watched the game progress, the frigid breeze ruffling his red hair. It was long enough now that he should start doing something with it or crop it short again. His icy blue eyes nearly crossed as he reached up with one delicate hand to snatch at a section of his locks to twist it and inevitably puff in frustration at the lack of hair pins he kept on himself.

He hadn’t needed them before, since his hair had been cut short for as long as he could remember. Josephine would likely request he get it cleaned up and presentable again, but for now he just wanted to keep it out of his eyes. His attention diverted back to the gazebo, but found the table and chairs empty. He frowned for a moment, eyes scanning the gardens in search of the two he’d been watching.

“Stalking isn’t a crime, but it should be.” Dorian’s jesting tones sounded behind him. Lark startled, cane sliding down to clatter on the stone walkway, out of reach, and the normally agile elf spinning around, not a single weapon on him, but his hands coming up in fists anyway. Dorian just chortled, “Hey now, is that any way to treat your esteemed guest?”

Lark’s hands loosened from their fists and he balanced primarily on his left leg, already feeling the strain in his right thigh from the simple movements. He half shrugged as he answered, “You snuck up on me.”

Dorian stooped and picked up the cane, returning it to Lark affably. “A mage sneaking up on a Dalish Hunter? Now that does seem unlikely.”

Lark sighed, mostly letting the topic go. He gestured over his shoulder, “Saw you playing down there.”

Dorian gave him a winning smile, “I’ll bet you did. And _I_ saw you playing with your hair like a lovesick girl up here.”

“I was _not_ —”

Dorian flapped his hand at him, “Right, right. And I’m not from Tevinter.”

Lark’s frown was basically a pout by now, making him seem even more childish than Dorian had already made him feel. He forced himself to stand up straighter and tap his cane against the stones beneath them. “Whenever you’ve finished having your fun…”

“Oh, I’m sorry, is this inconveniencing you?”

Their bickering went on as Dorian turned and led the way to his room, more than happy to share his private quarters with his guest. Lark, for his part, vacillated between fond annoyance at Dorian’s ridiculous drama and attempting to be the more mature one of the two of them. He didn’t feel as though he was doing a good job at the latter, but an attempt had to be made.

By the end of their afternoon together, the two had planned out the redesign of the courtyard to include a better training grounds for the troops. They would need to put their medical ward somewhere a bit more convenient, but at least they had a portion of the renovations dealt with. They would just have to bring it to the next War Table meeting and get it okayed by everyone else before getting it going.

By the evening, however, Iron Bull had coerced the two of them to join him and the Chargers for a drink at the tavern. One drink turned into at least five and by the time the two of them left Dorian was pretty much half carrying and half propping Lark up. They made it— _somehow_ —up to Lark’s quarters before they collapsed in a heap on the bed, chuckling and slurring their way through stories and jokes.

When Dorian asked about the chessboard Lark shrugged, “Cullen started it. I think he’s trying to teach me how to play.”

The mage nodded, eyes lingering on the board for a moment before he turned to face Lark, “Is it just me, or is it hot in here?”

When Lark was about to point out that they could open one of the four sets of doors he had to the outside in his quarters, he was interrupted by warm hands pressing to him, gentle and yet insistent. His eyes snapped back to Dorian’s, way closer this time and lacking his usual confidence. To reject him would be hurtful, especially since there was no reason to. Lark leaned in, their lips meeting and breaking the hesitancy that had built in the moment. After that it was a flurry of motion and whispered questions of whether certain movements hurt the Inquisitor or not. His tunic was pushed up, revealing the new scars left behind from his dealings with the bears, and Dorian paused, then leaned down to press kisses against the edges of the old wounds before he continued with removing Lark’s shirt.

If he had been more sober, he likely would have more than an impression of dizzying heat, firm and yet gentle touches, and the way it felt to be filled. As it was, when he awoke to see the scratch marks he’d left down Dorian’s back and felt slightly mortified that he’d been the one to do that, he just curled around the other man in sympathy and pressed soft kisses to his shoulders.

The door to his quarters opening softly alerted him, but it was Cole poking his head up, beckoning him without a word. Lark took a moment to slip himself out from his bed and dress in near silence. He glanced back at Dorian, but he slept peacefully, and usually conversations with Cole didn’t last terribly long. So he stepped out into the hall, only to see Cole heading into the Great Hall. Grumbling, he followed after him, and was systematically led from the central castle, out through the courtyard, empty at this early hour, and up onto the battlements near Cullen’s office. It was there that he finally caught up to the odd spirit, facing the door that led to the Commander’s quarters. He was about to ask what they were doing up there when Cole broke the quiet, “He yearns, he grasps, he waits too long. He knows, he saw, he heard the whispered words in corridors.”

“Cole…” Lark began, but was stopped when the heavy door before them swung open. He stepped back as Cullen stepped out, a missive in his hands, already hard at work. The Commander glanced up at him and stopped short, the missive lowering to his side.

“Oh, Your Worship, I didn’t expect—” He hesitated as Lark glanced at where Cole _had_ been. He gave a sigh and furrowed his brow, “Cole?”

Lark’s unamused expression said all he needed to, apparently and Cullen shook his head. Lark frowned then and gestured toward the stairs off to the side, “After you, I suppose.”

This punched a breathy chuckle out of Cullen, and he began down the stairs, his body language accompanied by a glance back at Lark indicated that he was waiting for him to join. So he did, a part of his mind wondering if Dorian was waking up without him there or not. Cullen’s words brought him back to the present, however, and drew his mind away from the man he’d left back in his own quarters. “I was brought a report from the contractor about supplies for the new courtyard. It looks like the new logging stands you acquired for us will be going to good use.”

Lark had to take the stairs a bit slower, shuffling a bit toward a railing before Cullen cleared his throat, arm proffered. He was tentative, but Lark reached his hand over, resting it carefully on Cullen’s coat covered arm. Lark’s eyes flicked up to meet Cullen’s as he continued the conversation, finding himself leaning into the other man a lot more than he had first intended to, “Glad I could be of assistance.”

Cullen seemingly caught on to his droll sarcasm and gave him a grim smile, “Yes, well, I’m still glad you were pieced back together.”

Lark’s face lit in an impish grin, “Oh, were you now? Couldn’t imagine the Inquisition without the Inquisitor?”

Cullen’s expression twisted a bit, and then settled into a wry smile, though his eyes seemed touched with sadness even as he answered, “More like I don’t want to see what happens when you’re gone. I’m pretty sure you’re the glue holding all of us together.”

Lark sniffed derisively, “Somehow I don’t believe you.”

Cullen’s steps down paused, “You should.” He met Lark’s gaze with his own steady, honeyed one. Lark’s brows furrowed, but Cullen continued, “You’re the entire reason we’re here, that we’ve made it this far. You’re the reason everyone is flocking to Skyhold. It’s all because of you.”

But the darkness crept in, causing Lark’s smile to fall, “On the other hand, none of this would have happened if it weren’t for me. We wouldn’t have lost people at the Conclave, or at Haven. We wouldn’t be facing down Corypheus—”

Cullen reached over to grasp his other arm nearly at the elbow, halting his words. “Without you, more would be dead. Likely all of us by now, as we wouldn’t have stood a chance against this demon as he took the world as his own. You are what stands in the way; you are what gives us hope. Without you, we are nothing. Without you, _I_ would be nothing.”

Lark’s breath caught, and for a moment he couldn’t gather his words. As Cullen began to look away, to continue back down the stairs, the redheaded elf reached out, catching their gloved hands together, fingers weaving as he stopped him from leaving. Cullen’s eyes came back to meet his and Lark somehow found his tongue, “You were never nothing, Cullen.”

He didn’t know what else to say, so he just gave the other man the most steady, impassioned look he could. Cullen held his gaze for a long moment, seemingly at a loss for words as well, and then lowered his gaze to move them back to walking slowly down the stairs. The rest of the journey down to the courtyard was quiet, but they were pressed more closely together now, side by side as they made their way. It was only once their feet had hit the ground that they spoke again, a much more subdued discussion about what he and Dorian had dreamt up for the training yard they intended to turn the area around them into. Cullen led him up, back into the Great Hall, and corralled him into a seat across from himself for breakfast. It wasn’t until well after breakfast, a conversation with Josephine, and a meeting at the War Table, that Lark’s thoughts wandered back to Dorian.

Rushing back to his quarters he was met with nothing but silence, his bed made as though nothing had occurred, and an empty section of the library. It was later that Varric mentioned that Dorian had been ensconced with Solas and Vivienne for the better part of the morning, apparently doing mage-y things.


End file.
